


Like A Fool, Kind Of Sick

by Brice_Gottlieb



Category: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Caboose is OOC, Crossover, Donut is a Sarge fan, O'Malley is Caboose's AlterEgo, To Be Edited At A Later Date
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brice_Gottlieb/pseuds/Brice_Gottlieb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog/Red Vs. Blue Crossover<br/>Don't get ahead of yourself, it's not word for word Dr. Horrible. </p><p>O'Malley (aka Michael J Caboose) wants nothing more than to woo the man of his dreams, Leonard L Church. The call to duty is great as Blood Gulch, the esteemed gathering of villains, sends him a letter of inquiry questioning his evil ways. If he can pull off something truly terrible, Caboose and his sidekick (Franklin D Donut) are in, but his nemesis The Director is stopping every plan Caboose sets in motion. </p><p>Can one villain get the guy, the dream job, and rule the world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet The Cast

Cast of Characters (With Picture Reference) 

 

Villians

[Michael J. Caboose](http://www.mens-hairstyle.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Short-faux-hawk-haircut.jpg) is O'Malley, a lack luster villain who dreams of ruling the world and living the easy life. He's often disregarded by his peers and seeks infamy. 

[Franklin Delano Donut](https://41.media.tumblr.com/73d60a3ba53f781b2a34b4dbf452fc77/tumblr_mwqye22iEj1t10gp8o1_500.jpg) is Donut, a college student majoring in Fashion while living a life of minor crime at night. He just needs the money.

[Frank DuFresne and Kaikaina Grif](http://41.media.tumblr.com/46ed5c3794b0640d0d22135304e08324/tumblr_n2hxf5ii5j1tqve56o1_500.jpg) are a team of highly skilled villains on the Blood Gulch Roster, and idols/competition to Caboose. Their intent is unclear.

[Sarge](http://ballinnn.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/9d3a161fa3e61cc630a8031a610ffbc8.jpg), the only surviving member of the original Blood Gulch Roster. No one knows his real name. He has Mediumship, Hydrokinesis, and Pyrogenesis.

 

Civilians

[Leonard L. Church](http://25.media.tumblr.com/d288fb70d53e74a8ccf6642f352eb27d/tumblr_mic1bvqTDF1ryfsfdo1_500.jpg) is a graphic designer and cashier at the local green foods market, making extra cash on his Etsy store. He's overwhelmed and moody.

[Lavernius Tucker](http://media.tumblr.com/00d3b62063e9df05b1be682d845fe06d/tumblr_inline_mj7dzmhBmn1qz4rgp.jpg) is a single father and manager at the local green foods market, making sure his friend Caboose stays sane. He's free on Sundays.

[Lavernius Tucker Jr.](http://data1.whicdn.com/images/66143920/large.jpg) is Junior, a small baby boy with big ambitions. He is babysat by Donut on Sundays. 

[Dick Simmons](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/08/07/1407406268135_wps_51_6_August_2014_Los_Angeles.jpg) is Dexter Grif's husband/media manager, likes Twitter, Dunkaccinos®, and works at the local green foods market. He's always right.

 

The Good Guys

[The Director](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/34900000/OMG-gary-oldman-34927691-500-667.png), business tycoon and head of the Freelancers. He's Caboose's arch-nemesis, but only because others know a lost cause when they see one.

[The Freelancers](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/rvb/images/7/7d/The_Freelancers.png/revision/latest?cb=20120922224825) are a group of vigilante crime fighters headed by their leader, The Director. Little escapes them, and little is known of them. 

[Dexter Grif](http://www.peoplequiz.com/images/bios/austin_peck.jpg-2054.jpg) is Lazer, a up and coming superhero looking for a formal nemesis. He has Laser Vision and Solar Healing, resulting in near invincibility. 

[Lopez](http://40.media.tumblr.com/5f6c03992f121b5929ba66d9d5ad62e0/tumblr_n74tb5PR8x1qamfowo1_r2_500.png) is La Pesado, a model and blogger turned small time superhero. He has Gravitational Manipulation, allowing him to increase/decrease gravitational pull.

 

Points of Interest

[Caboose's Apartment](http://www.magnoliaseniorliving.com/images/1bedroom-assisted-living.jpg) at 12 Seasons Street. Church, Simmons, and Dexter Grif live here, in singular apartments with similar layouts. 

[Qwik & Kleen Laundromat](http://www.portakleen.com/sites/default/files/styles/medium/public/images/floor-plans/floorPlan_laundry_20.gif?itok=_qOgLr16) three blocks from Caboose's Apartment. He goes here when he's stressed to watch the clothes cycle, and to meet Church.

Green Grow Mart, a small marketplace specializing in organics and special diet meals. Simmons, Tucker, and Church work here.


	2. In Which Plans Are Foiled (Again)

"A-Alright, so...." Caboose began, ignoring the smoke rising from the hem of his shirt as he fumbled through a stack of floor plans and looseleaf papers. With a sigh, Donut set his project aside and came up behind the older man. "Another failure?" he asked, patting out the embers. Caboose mumbled incoherently and became very absorbed in his search. "I knew I should have come along," Donut input, fighting against Caboose's movements to get him out of the scorched clothes. 

 

"The floor plan was wrong," Caboose announced, allowing Donut a brief second to pull the shirt over his head, streaking his already soot-covered face and mussing his hair. "I'll have to make a new approach."

 

"How about we try some other bank?" the blond replied, having made the suggestion many times over the week. "We can't just hit up big money in broad daylight. There's got to be some small national branch, or even retail stores. We could rob a gas station!" 

 

"Like petty criminals?" Caboose exclaimed, "Certainly not! We're professionals here, Donut, there's no need to go so low as that. We want an hour long coverage on Channel 3, not a two minute segment on Channel 11."

 

The shirtless man sat heavily at his desk and stared out the window, ballpoint pen in hand as he set to work. Donut sighed again, bundling up the ruined shirt and setting it atop the laundry basket within the closet. Caboose would be in a mood now. There hadn't been a successful job in weeks, not with those Freelancers about. Villains had little chance in this city, not without some major help or natural power. Caboose was coming home more ash and blood than man sometimes. Donut began to gather his things, wrapping lace about his hand and folding half finished projects to place them within his bag. For a brief moment, he dipped into the bathroom, running warm water over a rag and returning to Caboose's side. The man was pouting, but thanked him as Donut ran the cloth over his face. 

 

"You might want to get down to the laundromat," Donut informed, "your basket's rather full."

 

"Yeah, I'll....I'll do that," he replied, distracted by his work and scribbling down notes at the margins of the paper. Leaving the rag on the desk, Donut grabbed up his bag and left quietly. Caboose could handle himself.

 

 

As the hours ticked by, Caboose's desk filled with crumpled paper. He was beginning to think his sidekick was right. Every useless angle at the problem only bolstered the fact that the Freelancers would find a way around his sinister deeds. In a huff, the papers were pushed off the desk, right into a waiting metal trashcan. For good measure, Caboose threw the pen in with it and with a snap, the papers were curling to ash in a blue flame. He could deal with this later, Caboose surmised. It was 6 P.M on a Monday. He needed to head to the laundromat. 


	3. In Which Things Get Tricky

To describe Church was...difficult. 

 

Caboose thought hard while wheeling his hamper the three short blocks to the Qwik & Kleen. Church was a bit older than himself, easily defined as stout in build. Tattoos encroached from his shirt sleeves and collar in many styles and patterns. The words 'love' and 'life' were inscribed over his left hand, the one he used to press the elevator buttons with. His right read 'blue' and '1989', the meaning escaping Caboose's knowledge. His hair was sheared short at either side, growing a pale brown atop and flecks of gray through his beard. Church was brash and crude, downright mean sometimes. But his smile lit Caboose's heart. If only he could act normal around the man...

 

In his wondering, Caboose managed to catch his hamper on a crack in the sidewalk, stumbling forward without it. He turned back, frowning, and picked the thing up by its handles. He wouldn't be made a fool of in front of Church, not today. 

 

The door to the Quik & Kleen had been propped up by some early visitor by a block of concrete, making Caboose's journey that much easier. Except the rug that tripped him up. The basket went tumbling, Caboose beside it, and a very familiar face was glaring down at him when he managed to open his eyes. 

 

"Rough going?" Simmons asked, leaning over the prone Caboose. His thick rimmed glasses were very close to falling off his slim nose.

 

"Hey, Dick," Caboose murmured, quickly glancing about.

 

"He's not here yet," Simmons reassured him, pulling the lanky man to his feet without bothering to assist with the hamper and its contents. "I guess you're lucky today. He'd be yelling by now, probably for being in the way or something. Who knows?"

 

"Probably," Caboose agreed absentmindedly, stomach tight as he quickly picked his clothes from the floor and tossing them back into his basket. Simmons went back to the long folding table on the far side of the cramped building, his words trailing over his shoulder. 

 

"The man yells too much," he called with a smile, "I don't know what I'd do if Dex was that loud."

 

"E-easy," Caboose said, "He's wrapped around your fingers, Dick, there's nothing he could do without you reprimanding him." Thankfully, there were several open washers (a weekday didn't see much action) and Caboose could throw his clothes into the first he saw. He fed the machine quarters and a tab of detergent as Simmons spoke again.

 

"Superheros can be such hassles, he can always use my advice."

 

"Your advice?" Caboose chuckled, "Or your dictation?"

 

Simmons laughed in his own breathy way, smiling as he told Caboose to shut up. One of the hard things about being a villain was the civilian friendships that formed. Neighbors like Simmons and co-workers...there was always another angle to see oneself through. Dexter Grif was one of the few openly gay superheros, and Simmons managed his image. If they knew, things would be completely different. For now, Caboose enjoyed the odd company. 

 

Simmons' laughter was fading as Church entered in a huff, setting his hamper down heavily and quickly sorting clothes. Caboose hesitated. Heart suddenly in throat, he struggled to find words. The horn rim glasses were glinting in the sun as Church set them atop his head, rubbing hazel eyes and throwing whites in the washer. Caboose watched those inked hands fish through pockets, finding his voice all too suddenly. 

 

"H-Hi, Chur--"

"Shut up."

 

Caboose's teeth snapped as he closed his mouth as fast as he could. Simmons could be heard in the midst of his quiet laughter as Caboose tried again.

 

"Do you wanna....talk about the weather?"

 

Church looked at him incredulously. "That's your idea? Weather?" Caboose flushed pink with embarrassment as Church turned toward the door, gesturing at the empty parking lot and road beyond. "It's a Monday, Caboose. There's a sun in the sky and I don't have time to make shitty small talk with you." He pushed the washer door shut. "I just got off work. I'm  _really_ not in the mood for your stupidity."

 

Rooted in place, Caboose watched Church leave under a figurative storm cloud of his own creation. Simmons was quiet for once, quite pleased with his folding, and Caboose had to shake his trembling hands to rid them of the sparks and embers he'd created in fear. "Well," Simmons said softly, "he certainly is charming." 


	4. In Which Church Steals The Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a good comment about Caboose seeming rather intelligent when talking to others, with the exception of Church. Caboose is known as his RvB self only to Church, when he stutters and stalls and remarks about the obvious. As per canon, Church resents Caboose's personality, and he may come to regret this. 
> 
> All in all, Caboose is a normal human being with grand ideas, but is usually fallible and gets nervous around cute boys.

Church takes this narrative along with his brewing anger, out the door of the Quik & Kleen and into the balmy Monday afternoon. The pleasing weather didn't alleviate the stress on his mind. It wasn't until two blocks passed that Church let out his held breath. The sigh left him long and slow, fingers itching for work he'd left unfinished at home. He had too many things to do and not a minute to spare for that idiot.

 

It was a Monday, a very painful Monday; the skies were too happy for such an occasion.

 

Taking the stairs to avoid confrontation, he made his way up to the third floor. Dexter was blaring some kind of classic rock next door. He fished out keys, unlocking and slamming his apartment door shut hard behind him. The world could be as pissed with him as he was with it for all he cared. 

 

His hands found their work in haste, grabbing up his embroidery loom and setting to his task. The fabric was a deep blue and soft as kitten's breath, something he'd found stashed in the more expensive parts of the craft store. Threaded stars gleamed silver in the light. It was art in itself, and would make a perfect addition to his inventory. He examined his own handiwork. The needle sat anchored in the fabric, just waiting for him. With trembling hands, he pulled it loose and put it to motion. As the needle pushed and pulled at the blue, Church felt his tension begin to drain. Thought came clearly.

 

That idiot... Any other day, he would have given him a second of attention, maybe even nod at his words. Sure, the man wasn't exactly intriguing company, but he wasn't bad. But today every tattoo felt like another weight tied to Church's heart. He could remember vividly how worn hands and a quick needle had marked him, all the while preparing him. Words of wisdom floated through the forefront of his mind like a marquee, told in gruff Southern slang as they'd been heard so long ago. He'd not been ready, though. Church had never been ready...

 

Sighing, he left the loom on the counter top, pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes for what felt like the millionth time today. He had work to do. He didn't have time for this.

 

Church let himself cry anyway.


	5. In Which The Sky Cries

Evening drew fast under the cover of incoming clouds. Although done with his own possessions, Simmons took a seat atop the folding table and kept Caboose fair company, talking softly over the raindrops and watching the puddles begin to form. Content on the floor, Caboose held his knees close to his chest.

 

"I'm not looking forward to going out in this," he murmured, hearing Simmons hum in agreement. They'd silently stayed away from the subject of Church for Caboose's sake, remarking instead about the smaller things like shopping to be done and the upcoming Game of Thrones premier. The dryer chimed the end of its cycle as Caboose opened his mouth to say more, diverting their attentions. 

 

"Go on," Simmons said with a sigh, "the sooner we get out there, the sooner this is over." 

 

Caboose stood, all edges and angles to his form as he uncurled himself from the tiled floor. Wrenching open the dryer door, he kicked the hamper close and dragged the fresh clothing pell-mell into the basket, uncaring if they wrinkled or set. Simmons didn't seem to approve, but didn't say otherwise. Pushing up his thick glasses, Simmons grabbed his hamper by both handles, carefully covered with an overlarge beach towel. They filed out together, and Caboose was grateful that the rain was at least warm. He was soaked soon after leaving their cover. A side glance left Caboose smiling, however, because Simmons was quickly resembling a very wet and unhappy cat. 

 

Both were plenty dripping by the time they reached the apartment complex. Caboose held the door, the sudden rush of cool air chilling them as they rushed inside on squeaky sneakers. Setting the hamper aside, Simmons pushed back wet hair from his brow, panting slightly at the change in temperature. "I, uh," he began, pausing to take off his now fogged glasses, "I guess I'll see you later, Mike."

 

"Sure thing," Caboose replied, watching as Simmons headed for the single elevator. It would take the old contraption a while to reach the third floor. In the mean time, Caboose turned to the mail boxes at his back. They were dull and chipped little things, each bearing the pad lock or combination lock of their owner. Simmons' and Grif's stood out as the only red combination lock in a sea of black dials. Caboose's did too, in a way, as a cobalt one. His long fingers worked quickly over the knob, having to clear it twice when he went over the wrong numbers, but the lock came off neatly and several envelopes awaited him inside.

 

Caboose began to read them as he shut the box. His parents had wrote again, the neat handwriting of his aged mother standing out clear as day and familiar on its artistic envelope. No doubt she'd stuck a pressed flower or two from the yard inside. Shuffling the envelopes, he found others. A political party looking for votes, a hospital bill he still hadn't paid off (broken toes were not fun), and a very startling envelope sealed and full and yet left blank.

 

He attempted to wipe damp hands off on his own damp shirt (not a good tactic) and flipped the envelope over, tearing carefully through the seal to the contents within. It only took a line of reading before Caboose knew he had to find Donut.


	6. In Which Doors Don't Open

Caboose ran for the stairs. He was nearly halfway up the first flight when he remembered the hamper (damn it all for slowing him down), and returned for it. Three floors had never been cleared so quickly. He could feel his heart at his throat the whole way. 

 

Setting the laundry by the doorway, Caboose patted his jeans down for the keys.

 

And didn't find them.

 

Frantic, he patted down every pocket, dug through them, and thought back. He'd left in such a hurry, and had felt nothing when he'd fished out the quarters for the machines. "Just....fucking great," he growled, an uncharacteristically loathsome look overcoming his expression. He'd locked himself out. Donut had the key. And his cellphone...had been on his desk. 

 

With pause, Caboose tried to think. He was wet and beginning to shiver. Down the hall, he could hear the classic rock that no doubt was Dexter (yet again). Simmons could give him shelter and a phone, at least until Donut could deliver the spare key. Or...

 

Wary, Caboose left his hamper at the welcome mat, the mail tucked within the clothing, and walked down a few doors. Every tenant had his or her name engraved on cheap metal plates just over the peep holes. Cruz, Y. was his immediate neighbor. She was a nice lady, always sparing him a smile and offering her assistance when she noticed him struggling. Jones, M. & L. were a chipper couple, if sometimes a little loud. Shawcross, K. was often coming back late at night. Zellner, N. was hardly ever seen.

 

And then Church, L.

 

Caboose sighed softly, almost reconsidering. Before he could think too much, he found himself knocking. 

 

There was a beat of silence, then the lock was sliding and Church appeared before him. The television was going in the background and smells of warm pasta tempted Caboose's appetite. Church's sigh was almost one of defeat, but Caboose had little trouble brushing it off.

 

"What do you want?" he started sharply, holding the door tightly as if ready to slam it shut. 

 

"Look, I...." Caboose was starting to think this was a bad idea after all. Then again, he couldn't just brush it off. It wasn't as if he could say he'd knocked on the wrong door. "I--I did a thing. Happens to be I, uh, locked myself out so..."

 

Church was beginning to look pissed. Taking it as a sign, Caboose rushed. "SocanImaybeuseyourphone,ornot,that'sfinetoo.Iprobablyshouldjsutgo,Ididn't--"

 

"You locked yourself out?" Church exclaimed, "and...what?"

 

"S-so-can-I-m-maybe-use--"

 

"English, dammit!"

 

Caboose froze up, mentally cursing himself yet again for having upset Church. "So," he said again, pacing himself, "Can I maybe use your phone? I...I don't mean to bug you..." The older man looked torn between closing the door on Caboose and feeling pity. "I know I already pissed you off at the Quik & Kleen. I'm sure it's been a rough day, but...I mean, we're best friends, right?"

 

At his words, Church's face fell into disbelief. "Best friends?" he questioned, "you and me?" Caboose nodded eagerly, as if they were agreeing. Those brown eyes rolled  _hard_ behind horn rim glasses, and for a moment, Caboose's heart fluttered. 

 

"Whatever, come on."

 

Church stood aside to let him in.


	7. In Which Church Tries Being Civil

"No dripping on my floor," Church stated hotly, lightly shoving at Caboose's shivering form with fingertips. The front door was slammed shut and wrenching open the double door closet behind it. Clothes and hoodies stood out in varying shades of blue. A makeshift set of shelving (made of plastic milk crates and zip ties) sorted boots from sneakers and rolled up socks. From the long top shelf, Church pulled a very fluffy looking towel and a thought came to Caboose's mind. 

 

"You never came back for your clothes," Caboose said as the towel was handed to him, "at the laundromat, I mean."

 

"Don't worry about it," he replied. He closed the doors and the thought was out of Caboose's mind.

 

Caboose was inside Church's apartment. It was much like his own, though lacking a desk and radio. He was beginning to notice his host's appearance, the cobalt track pants and over-worn tee, but Church soon left to disappear behind the bedroom door. So instead, the villain took a glance around. The place was set up for function over living. A long dining room took most of the wall space adjacent the kitchenette. Everything from thick textbooks to a slim television sat atop it, littered with colorful threads, shiny needles and pins, hoops of wood, and ribbon on cardboard spools. There were frames on the walls, most of them no larger than his hand. Caboose wrapped the towel about himself and shuffled closer to look.

 

At first, he thought they were pictures. But the more Caboose stared, the more he noticed the tiny threads, the intricate detail. He was staring into landscapes and portraits, replicas of famous paintings and scenes of real life remade in silk and linen. Some even had tiny organic matter weaved into them in the form of autumn trees and delicate flowers. Hand-stitched faces stared back at him, so vibrant in their coloration that they nearly came to life. An older military-type man in the midst of pouring coffee was highlighted with a single hair-wide strand of gold. In fact, many of the portraits were of this man. His nose appeared bent and broken, delicate shading brought wrinkles to his face, but his eyes were kind and often streaked with that same gold that haloed his body. 

 

"Get away from that," Church snapped, "You'll get my books wet."

 

Caboose jumped visibly, confused for a moment as the man handed over a cellphone. "What is all of this?" he asked softly, turning back to the frames. 

 

"Art," Church said simply, taking a long look for himself. "That's what I assume, anyway."

 

"You made all of it?" the villain asked in awe, wanting suddenly more than anything to touch one. 

 

"Well, they didn't just appear all on their own," Church grumbled, as if it had been so obvious. "It's...my living, I guess. These were the pieces I liked most. The rest get sold." He turned his back on them, heading for the kitchenette. Caboose followed, perhaps a little too close, because as Church stopped at the counter, he bumped against him. Church shot him an angry look, but Caboose was far too intrigued to feel guilty. A hoop of fabric sat on the counter: stars of silver gleamed in a blue so dark Caboose had nearly taken it for an inky black. "Is this going to be put on the wall?" he inquired as Church began to pick up the needle. 

 

"Not likely," he replied shortly, "I was commissioned this one. It'll be sold and I'll start on another soon enough." 

 

A moment of silence passed between them as Church worked. Caboose was content to watch, curious to see the work come to life, but Church had other plans. 

 

"Aren't you going to call someone?" he asked, glancing sidelong at the cellphone he'd put in Caboose's hands. Caboose looked down at his hands, trying to remember who he needed to call and why. Oh, right. Donut. He pressed the buttons slowly as Church got back to work, leaving his side to give some privacy. 

 

The phone rang multiple times before it was picked up, a very excited Donut trying and failing to school the happiness of his voice into something a little more cautious. Cutting him off shortly after hello, Caboose launched into his speech. "Look, Donut, I need you. I locked myself out."

 

 

"Again?" Donut whined from his end of the line. He sat up from his overly plush couch, abandoning the television remote in favor of the drawn curtains of his small basement window. "It's raining out there, Mike. And I'm so warm already. I have a test to study for."

 

 

"That's a lie and we both know it," Caboose muttered, "You're too happy for a test."

 

 

"Yeah, but...I'm _warm_ , Caboose," he pleaded. His brow crumpled in confusion. "Whose phone are you calling from, anyway?"

 

 

Caboose's lips pursed. "Church let me in to his apartment."

 

 

"Are you romancing the douche?" Donut chirped excitedly. Rain be damned, he had to see this. The college student bounded across the room, snatching up the ratty sneakers he'd worn that morning and shoving them on. "Come on," he demanded, pressing the cell between shoulder and cheek, "I need details!"

 

 

"No," pressed Caboose, his expression pinched in anxious displeasure. "No, we can do that...later. Get over here with the key. There are things we need to discuss."

 

 

"Ooh," Donut sing-songed, "Sounds important!"

 

 

"It is."

 

 

Caboose pulled the phone away, pressing 'end' firmly. Church remained silent, not far from where Caboose had drifted during the call. The hoop in his hands was steadily pushed at and pulled, the thread making a very slight sound in the quiet, like a sigh from far off. This was Church's living. These materials earned his keep, and he created such beauty with them. Words found their way to Caboose's lips of their own accord, as they so often did in Church's presence. 

 

"My name is Michael, by the way," he said gently. "People usually just call me Caboose, y'know...cause of the door plates."

 

"The answer to a question I never asked," Church replied coolly, moving on. "Are you going to be leaving soon?"

 

"Oh...yeah. Donut; he's got my spare key. Should be here in a few minutes."

 

Church looked up from his work, motioning toward the front door. "That punk kid that comes barreling up the stairs like a maniac?" Cringing, Caboose nodded in return. "Good luck with that, then," he continued, casually slipping tight knots into the silvery thread. 

 

"He's not my boyfriend or anything," Caboose quickly covered, "More like my...partner."

 

"...So, like a husband?"

 

"No! Like..." Caboose cut off in a sigh, flushing very deeply across his cheeks and ears. "Like a friend." Church began to chuckle and Caboose wanted nothing more than to melt into the kitchen tile. "Sounds like a crush to me," Church said lightly, but Caboose was already mentally kicking himself.

 

"I don't have a crush on _him_. Not that there's anything wrong with it! I guess I kinda like everyone; I mean, I'm bisexual. But, me and Donut, we're like friends. Good friends, even."

 

Church was looking very humored as Caboose looked up from his feet. "And _we're_...best friends?" Caboose tried in a soft voice. He took in the gentle curve of Church's lips, the way his breathing picked up as Church neared. The phone was taken from his hands. The towel left his shoulders. His eyes closed against his orders. This was it, he surmised mentally. Somewhere, he did good. He did alright. Damn fine, even. Caboose celebrated and cheered himself because finally, finally, something was going right for him.

 

 

And then Church was gone.

 

 

Caboose peeked open slowly, noticing Church standing next to the front door. His stomach twisted cruelly as Church opened it and motioned outward. Church's name left his lips softly, but went unnoticed as Church spoke. 

 

"Get the fuck out, man. You got what you needed, now go wait for your  _friend_."

 

Caboose didn't say much, only passing by Church silently with a familiar feeling of dread and heartache. It hurt, but sadly, he was used to it. Turning, Caboose meant to thank him for the hospitality, but the words stuck in his throat. Church already had the door half closed anyway. For a brief second, though, it paused. Church wrenched it back open, looking Caboose up and down before saying anything.

 

"My name is Leonard. And if you want to be my best friend, maybe kick the idiocy down a few notches."

 

And the door was slammed in its usual fashion. Caboose's heart lifted like a balloon, suddenly from his stomach to the peak of his throat. His eyes roamed to the tiny name plate and placed the name. Church, L. Church, Leonard. A grin found its way to his lips as Caboose strode purposefully back toward his own apartment...

 

 

 

 

...and Church was smiling widely on the other side of his door, feeling brighter than he'd been in a long while. 


End file.
